


And my Sorrow (it weighs me down)

by ray_night



Series: On Distant Shores (he waits for me) [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief cameos by Felicity and Curtis, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hints of Lauriver, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Laurel Lance Lives, Nukes what nukes, Team as Family, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, alternate season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ray_night/pseuds/ray_night
Summary: Caring had gotten her into enough messes, so nowadays Laurel tried to care less. She was past trying to interfere in the others' lives, had no desire to meddle in anyone's relationships. In a way, Damian Darhk had managed something even pills and alcohol had never achieved: Laurel Lance was simply done caring.But the team still worried, she knew that, so she tried to keep her behavior around them in check, tried to hide how - or with whom - she was spending her nights when not donning the mask or working on cases.[Post alternate season 4: Laurel does not die by Damien Darhk's hand. But that does not mean that things turn out okay for her.]





	And my Sorrow (it weighs me down)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if anyone is still reading this, but after way too long, here is the next of the stories of my "On distant shores" series. And in this one Laurel lives (Yay!). However, it sadly does not comply with the requests for fluff I received after my other stories, but there is potential for a slightly happier side story here I might at some point write.  
> I want to sincerely thank everyone who reviewed the other two stories, words cannot express how happy every comment and every Kudo makes me!  
> This story will ignore the whole canon plot with the nukes; likewise, Darhk's death is mostly referenced, but not a major plot point.  
> Please mind the tags - and if you're really unsure at this point, please see the end notes for all the appropriate warning(s).  
> Otherwise - enjoy!

   


_Death takes and takes, and she always remains behind._

She slunk into the Bunker while the mission briefing was already going on, aware that she was the last one to arrive. Sending a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, she hoped everyone would be too preoccupied to notice her, allowing her to head directly to her locker and get changed into her gear. A minute, that was all she needed to get out of the direct view of everyone and get herself together.

“Hey Laurel!”

Apparently, either nobody was listening, or the universe just wasn't in a giving mood today.  
Of course it was Felicity who noticed her. There probably was some program on the computer alerting her to the elevator being used, or maybe her phone was being tracked; or maybe it was one of the other hundred other ways the tech could have known that Laurel had finally made it to the Bunker.

The lawyer froze on the spot, cursing internally. She took a deep breath, turning to the team assembled on the platform. Thea, Oliver, Diggle and Felicity. Fantastic.  
She was not in the mood for anyone's judgment right now. And judgment she'd get, because one look at her was enough to know what she had been up to.

Blonde locks badly tousled, dark eye make-up smudged, short midnight blue dress creased and crinkled, wearing black heels. It didn't take a genius to pick up on the clues here. It was in their eyes as comprehension dawned on each and every one of them, and she didn't even need to look at Oliver to feel the disapproval radiating off him. The moment of silence expanded, as she considered what to say, thankful that they had at least enough tact to let her decide how to approach this.

“Oh wow, looks like somebody got _laid_. Good for you.”

Or not.

If she had been paying more attention, Laurel would have noticed that she was not the only person in the room staring darkly at the blonde tech for that comment. Whatever apology to being late might have been on the tip of her tongue fled from the lawyer's mind. She was not accountable to anyone here, and in this case, owed them nothing.

“I'll be with you guys in a moment, then you can catch me up on what I missed,” she said harshly and continued on her path towards the lockers. She knew without having to look, that they were – again – judging her for how she dealt with her grief.

 

_...._

This time, she thought, surely no one would be any the wiser to how she spent her evenings.

She wasn't the last to arrive, had come straight from home in normal, casual clothes. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, inconspicuous along with her plaid shirt, jeans and trainers.  
Once Thea arrived, they gathered around the computers on the platform while Diggle explained the mission parameters. Things had calmed down considerably since Darhk's _demise_ , but there were still criminals that needed dealing with, still streets to clean up. Even though they had all gone through different kinds of hell in the last months, coming together as a team, as a _family_ , had helped each of them.

Thea was becoming more grounded again, trying to strike a healthy balance between work, leisure time and vigilantism. After the success she had felt at managing her brother's mayoral campaign, she had discovered that she quite liked bossing people around, and decided to retake management of Verdant. While the partying life-style no longer seemed to hold much interest for Thea, Laurel knew that the young woman benefited greatly from having a routine and something to do besides being Speedy. It helped that she had reluctantly agreed to go see a psychotherapist, a decision her flatmate was most proud of.

The older Queen sibling however, wasn't dealing as well with the changes in his life. Being mayor and a vigilante at the same time was becoming a lot to balance at once, even for Oliver Queen. The constant scrutiny he was under didn't help, neither did the fact that the press had just eaten up the story of his broken engagement and would not stop hounding him about news of his relationship status. All of this made for a very sour disposition, which often came out full force when on missions. As mayor, he had to keep up appearances. As Green Arrow, there was no need play nice.

Where Thea had taken steps forward, her brother seemed to have gone backwards. A fact which Laurel would have deemed deeply unsettling a few months ago, but now no longer found the energy to care about.

In fact, caring had gotten her into enough messes, so nowadays she tried to care less. Except for Thea, she let sleeping dogs lie, just subtly tried to influence the people around her to either seek help or take care of themselves.  
She was past trying to interfere with the things John was going through, and had no desire to meddle in anyone's relationships or CEO-business, not even Felicity's.  
In a way, Darhk had managed something even pills and alcohol had never achieved: Laurel Lance was simply done caring.

But the team still worried, she knew that, so she tried to keep her behavior around them in check, tried to hide how she was spending her nights when not donning the mask, or working on cases.

But as it turned out, she still had missed a clue this time.

After finishing up with the briefing, they each went to get ready. Half off the platform already, a hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up at Oliver, his expression reflecting something Laurel had trouble interpreting, but decided had to be disapproval.

“Next time, tell him to shower first,” he whispered to her, and she froze. Looking around to see if anyone was paying attention, she tried to school her features into something else than the rage she could feel bubbling up.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she hissed back, already uncomfortable with how close they were, and trying to act like she had no idea what he was actually talking about.

“Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you,” he retorted and left her standing there.

 Damn it, was her only thought. A discreet sniff on her clothes revealed what she had instantly suspected upon hearing his comment: they smelled like men's body spray. Damn it, she thought again. She should have kicked the guy out earlier, not lounged around with him.

 

_..._

 

The air in the Bunker was charged already, but she knew the moment Mr. High-and-Mighty would be back, all hell would break loose. Felicity and Thea knew it as well, for the tech was unusually quiet, and the other woman very focused on carefully cleaning and bandaging Laurel's bloody hands. Her knuckles were bruised, tiny shards deeply embedded into her skin from the window she had punched in, skin cut and broken from fighting. Her gloves had not held up against the beating she had dished out today, and Laurel had already decided to send a request to Cisco for better ones.

Diggle was sitting at the table, already planning and outlining the necessary follow-up missions for the next week. He was trying to look like he was unaware of the tension in the room, and the lawyer in her recognized it as someone trying to collect more evidence before presenting their case. She didn't know how to feel about that.

To everyone else, John Diggle had seemingly gotten over what had happened at the prison. Events which had resulted in Laurel ending up in the hospital after almost getting the life choked out of her by Darhk's magic. That his own brother had betrayed him, had hurt someone he cared about, was still something that weighed him down. To Laurel, this was clear as day. It was in the set of his shoulders when he thought himself unobserved, in the way his eyes always shifted to the left when talking to her, like he did not dare look at her directly.

Back in the hospital, she had tried to reassure him several times that it wasn't his fault. That she didn't blame him for wanting to see the best in his brother, for trusting his own blood.

She had tried, and obviously failed. But then the night at the warehouse had happened, and her capacity to care had evaporated. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when the elevator doors opened, and for a moment everyone froze. Instead of the angry presence everyone expected, the Green Arrow exiting the elevator seemed more defeated than anything else. His steps were heavy as he entered the room, gaze only shortly focusing on Diggle at the table. He wordlessly tossed the USB drive with the recently obtained information to Felicity, not even caring enough to look if she caught it. Thea he patted on the shoulder in passing, his eyes meeting Laurel's for a moment that seemed to last too long.

There were so many emotions reflected in the grease circled eyes, she didn't even know where to start. He was angry for sure, but also unsure and worried, even defeated.

And then, instead of the expected blow-up and confrontation, he simply went to change his clothes and left without a word to anyone.

 

_...._  
  


Another night, another mission, another criminal element of the city locked up. The injuries this time were minimal, and especially the youngest team member seemed to be on a sort of high from the win.

In times past, before the _incident_ at the warehouse, Laurel would have been right there with Thea, smiling and joking around with Curtis on the platform. Felicity had taken to alternating night shifts with Curtis, who was ecstatic to help out the vigilantes. The tech brought a certain lightheartedness with him that had been missing for so very long, sometimes even managing to draw a smile from Oliver of all people.

Only the ADA among them remained unaffected. She didn't find much to smile about anymore, keeping a tight leash on her emotions and locking them away in a box. That way, if she didn't feel, she didn't hurt.

Still, it was almost impossible to say no to Curtis when he approached her with the med kit, offering to clean up the small injury on her shoulder where a bullet had grazed her. He was smiling, chattering away more at her, than with her.

“You guys were really great out there today. And the way you took down that one thug up close! I got a great camera angle on that move, maybe you could teach me?” He looked so damn hopeful in that moment, it was hard to say no.

Still, she was not so arrogant as to not know her own limitations.  
“I'm no teacher, Curtis. Maybe Oliver can show you, he probably knows that move too.”

 His expression fell, and the excited chattering tapered off. A look passed between them, and instead of disappointment she saw nothing but understanding in his eyes. She liked that about him. No pity, no probing or whining – he simply accepted the boundaries she set. So different than other people in the room, and unbidden, her gaze sought out Oliver, who was standing nearby conversing with Diggle. Without a doubt, he had heard the exchange, but chose not to get involved. It had been that way for weeks now, with Laurel able to sense his disquiet, his disapproval and worry, but him not talking to her. In fact, whatever understanding had been between them, the precious piece of their friendship they had regained, seemed to be lost again. She knew it was both of them this time – she had closed off as well, chosen not to deal with her grief, instead pushing everything down. He didn't dare call her out, unsure on how to approach her.

If they weren't behaving so much like caged tigers, circling each other in distrust and anticipation, she would have laughed at this stalemate.

But these days, she didn't find much humor in the situation.

Without thought, Laurel took off her jacket to give Curtis access to her wound. He put it aside, observing in passing, “I'll get this cleaned for mending”.  
Her eyes quickly swept over the item, assessing all the tiny spots where the jacket had been repaired before. Cisco kept them well supplied in their “superhero get-ups”, as he called them jokingly, but she still preferred to take care of her jacket until its state would one day become beyond salvageable.

Surprisingly – or maybe not so unexpected after all – it was Diggle who had shown the most skill with a needle and a thread. In the few months where it had just been them and Thea, the ex-bodyguard had quietly taken to stitching up their costumes. Which had led to lessons for the women as well, with differing results. Thea simply didn't have the patience for it, even if she showed meticulous dedication to taking care of her bow. Laurel had almost quit the lessons a few times, but eventually, and with much practice, had gotten the hang of it. Even if her stitches ended up looking crooked up close, it was enough to keep the black leather together.

As it turned out, she would also need a new shirt, as the one she was wearing was ruined. With a sigh, she took it off as well, leaving her in a black sports bra, hair swept back to one side.

Curtis carefully went through the steps of cleaning her wound, while carrying on a conversation with Thea on the platform. Laurel wasn't really paying attention, just gathered that they were talking about some movie she had never heard of.

The sting of the disinfectant momentarily pulled her out of her thoughts, but she no longer minded the pain. Pain was a reminder that she was alive. Pain helped her forget what had happened, kept her from thinking about it. And if she didn't think about that night in the warehouse, then it had no power over her.

Only after the bullet graze was cleaned, treated and bandaged, noticed Curtis something else.

“Oh, you have another bruise on your throat, let me...”

Her reflexes had her covering the spot he indicated, a flush of anger going through her. The idiot from last night had left a mark.

“It's not a bruise, Curtis,” Laurel replied in a low voice, as realization dawned on him. “ _Oh_ , well, then, never mind.”

Hair flipping over to cover the _damn_ hickey, the blonde threw a dark look at the table where she just knew that a certain archer had been listening in. He wasn't looking her way, but there was no need. The tension in his body and the tight set of his shoulders spoke more than any words he would never say.

 

_...._

 

The months dragged on. For some, they were a full of changes, the steps into a calmer, better life.

Thea seemed more centered and at peace than she had been in years, taking time to go on long runs or attend Pilates lessons on the weekends, all while managing Verdant. Oliver had finally learned how to get the press off his back, and had gradually started to relax a little. Being mayor was a stressful job, but the people of the city seemed willing enough to give him a chance to do some good. Diggle, now officially a bodyguard for the young mayor, had started to come to terms with the fact that his brother had been twisted until he had become a stranger. A stranger, who was now locked up in an ARGUS prison. The loss hadn't been any easier the second time around, and had caused John to re-evaluate his life. One of the decisions had been to stop going out into the field. Little Sara was getting bigger and bigger, and with Lyla at a desk job, this meant they were able to spend a lot more time together as family. After a long legal battle, Felicity had lost the fight for Palmer Tech, and was now working on establishing herself as a private cyber security contractor.

Laurel was the only one who seemed to stand still. With the circumstances surrounding Darhk's attack on her life, and what had happened a few short weeks later at the warehouse, she had declined the offer to become District Attorney, and instead had thrown herself in her work as ADA. It was a politically difficult position, supporting and helping the new DA, who was naturally wary of her motives. Despite it all, her reputation as a lawyer took precedence over any potential office gossip, and she found she could still do her work in relative peace. When not at work, she put more effort in her training than ever before, often pushing her body to the limits, until exhaustion would claim her. If her mind tried to assault her with memories of _that_ night, she usually just went out. Not to drink, or take pills. Instead, she would go to a bar or a gym. It wasn't difficult to find conversation partners, even less difficult to ascertain who would be up for more than talking. With a strict no strings attached rule, she found herself with different men every few weeks. Whether it was Ryan from the gym, who was a walking stereotype of all brawn and no brain, or Chris, the tightly wound banker; sex was just another way to forget and the endorphin rush just as good as the adrenaline high she got from fighting.

She figured the team was none the wiser as to her other activities. After the first few slip ups, she took great care to hide where she had been and with whom. Not because she was ashamed – far from it. It was more that she was tired of being judged, that she was not keen on getting pep talks and interventions about her coping methods.  
However, she always made sure not to bring a guy around when Thea was home. The young woman was doing so well, Laurel did not want to taint her brightening spirits with her own damage.  
  


_...._

  
Eventually, months after that fateful night, Sara came home.

She was just suddenly at the Bunker, waiting for them when they came back from a recon mission. Thea greeted her shyly, the assassin's presence bringing up unbidden memories of mind control and her biological father. Laurel watched warily as Oliver went to hug her sister in greeting, her mind already spinning, heart rate suddenly – and inexplicably – spiking. 

_She couldn't do this._

Driven by panic, Laurel fled back into the elevator and up to the hidden parking garage where they stored their vehicles. Breathing rapidly, heart racing, she got onto her motorcycle, thankful that she had left the mask on. Disregarding her helmet, she kicked the bike into gear and drove off into the night.

Sara found her barely an hour later, sitting cross-legged before a grave. Laurel didn't look up as her sister sank down next to her, staring straight ahead at the head stone.  
“I didn't know how to tell you,” she finally confessed, still unable to look at her younger sibling. In her mind, she was back there. Back in that warehouse.  
“When I saw you standing there, I realized I would have to actually say it out loud. And I panicked. I was doing so well in keeping it together... I didn't want them to see...”

Sara didn't say anything in reply, just moved closer, an arm coming up to lay across Laurel's shoulder, her head placed next to her sister's. In a strange way, it was a mirroring of their last parting, of the day Laurel had revealed the White Canary suit to her and told her to be a hero in the light.  
For all that the older sister had been strong in the last months, her boxes were now brimming full with suppressed feelings. Her defenses were down, and unwanted, the events of that night played out before her inner eye. How she had led the charge into the old building, fear driving her. She had paved the way almost faster than the others could follow, using her Canary Cry with a never before seen intensity, settings cranked up as far as they would go. Man after man had gone down, and with every Ghost she had taken out, she had prayed that they would make it.

And they had made it.

Just in time to see Damien Darhk stab Quentin Lance right in the heart.

“It's okay, Laurel,” Sara whispered, vision already hazy, trying to accept the new reality before her.  
“No, it's not! I couldn't protect our father, Sara. I'm so sorry...” her words faded as she choked up, tears making their way down her cheeks, as she remembered sitting on a cold concrete floor, her dead father cradled in her lap. Clinging onto him as if she could bring him back to life by sheer force of will. She could still not recall how long she had sat there, sobbing into his chest, praying for the slightest of movement. And then the rage had broken through. That fire she had felt before, turned into a raging inferno. It had built in her heart, unfurled in her chest, clawed its way up her throat, until she had screamed it into the night.

When the dust had cleared, she had looked up with dry eyes, glimpsing the night sky through the torn roof.  
She would never forget that moment, that unbridled energy, that look in the eyes of the others, like she was a ticking time bomb. She had locked that rage away, had replaced fire with coldness, had become more ruthless as Black Canary. She had run in all directions, had hidden from her feelings for so long...  
And now there was nowhere left to hide.

For a long time, both sisters just sat there, staring through tears at their father's grave, exchanging murmured whispers of “ _It's okay_ ” and “ _I'm sorry_ ”. All their strength gone, their usual facades were now cracked and broken. Death had come and taken from their family once more.

 

_...._  
  


It didn't come as a surprise to the older Lance when her sibling left town only a few days after arriving. Sara didn't do well with sitting still, and her preferred method of grieving and coping was always to run head first into any readily available distraction. Besides that, apparently there was still unfinished business to attend to in her time travels.  
Laurel envied her that freedom. Sara wasn't tied down by a job, by a self-sworn duty to protect, by her promise to look after someone.  
Both sisters knew that, none the less the offer was made.  
“Come with me, Laurel. Let's travel together, leave behind the city and all the pain that lingers here.”

 And oh, how tempting that idea was – to just _leave_. Leave it all behind, start over. But she wasn't ready for that.  
"Not now. I don't want to leave Thea just yet. Besides, this city still needs me.”

And they both knew that it wasn't only the city; it was her sense of duty and responsibility to the team, to the city and to the DA's office that bound her here. 

“If you ever change your mind... I don't know when I'll be in touch again, but I have a number here. I'm sure Nyssa wouldn't mind your company on her travels.” They both smiled at the thought of the former Heir to the Demon.

“I love you, sis.”

_...._

 

It was another innocently blurted out comment that finally brought the confrontation Laurel had been preparing herself for in the last months.

The women were sparring on a mat, while Oliver and Diggle were using the weights, when Felicity walked in. Chipper as always, the blonde took a moment to take in the scene before her.  
“You know guys, you look like you could be on the cover for some fitness magazine.”  
Thea was quick to respond in equally good humor.  
“Oh hell yeah, I bet my booty would bring _all_ the boys to the yard.”  
“Thea!” came the protest from the corner, “There are things I don't want to think about my little sister doing!”  
“Sorry, Ollie,” was the quick and insincere reply, as she chuckled mirthfully, staff held at the ready for Laurel's next move.

 “Well, I'd say these days it's Laurel who's bringing the guys... somewhere. I saw you with that one guy last night in front of Club Plex. Looked like _someone_ was about to get really _lucky_.”

One could have heard a pin drop at that point. Everyone had stopped and turned to stare aghast at Felicity, even if for different reasons.  
Noticing their reaction, she defensively held up her hands, “What? He was totally hot.”

“Not the point, Felicity!” hissed the younger Queen sibling, casting a look at her sparring partner, the only one who had not turned to face the tech.  
She was tense, shoulders drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line, breathing slowly.  
“Excuse me,” was all she said as she brushed past the other two women, leaving her training staff leaning against the platform and striding purposefully in the direction of the elevator. 

Out of all the people down in the Bunker, of course it had to be Ollie to come after her, reflected Laurel sourly. The night air was cool against her heated skin, and her thin exercise clothing didn't offer much protection against the slight drizzle.  
“Turn back Ollie, I'm fine,” was all she said, leaning back against the alley wall. Undeterred, the archer stepped closer to her, until he was in her personal space. She regarded him warily, but kept her guard up.  
Tigers in a cage, she reminded herself.

“You're not fine. You might think you're doing a good job of pretending to be okay. But I can see right through you.”

“So what? Are you the only one who's allowed to be broody, is that it?”

Instinctively, her body had turned towards him, and with a start she realized that this was the closest they had been in a long time. When he huffed in frustration, she _felt_ it.

“You know that's not it. I'm worried about you, Laurel. You haven't been the same since your father's death. Am I not allowed to worry about my friend?”

A harsh laugh was probably not the reaction he had expected. “ _Friend_? Good one, Ollie.”

“I'm sorry Laurel, I swore last year I would get better at this–”

“No. Stop.” For a moment, his confused expression reminded her of the boy she'd known so long ago.  
“If you're here to tell me you think I'm not dealing with the right way, turn around and leave right now. You might be the master of bad coping mechanisms, Ollie, but you haven't patented the rights to them. And I'm doing quite well, no thanks to you. I'm not drinking, I'm not taking pills, I'm not being reckless with my life. I'm keeping in shape, I'm working, I'm training. Are these the signs of someone falling apart?”

Her anger was driving her heartbeat, causing her breathing to accelerate, and Laurel cursed herself for it. Strength, not weakness, was what she needed now. She recognized the fire in his eyes even before he started into his tirade, and she mentally tried to prepare herself for it. Some part of her was tired of them always fighting. Another, darker part of her relished the challenge coming her way, because this confrontation had been building up for so long, she longed to finally let go of this front they had kept up between them.

“And beating criminals to bloody pulps even their mothers wouldn't recognize, is that keeping it together? Using your Canary Cry until their ears _bleed_?” He towered over her now, and they were face to face, staring each other down, daring the other to make a move. Everything in Laurel coiled together, like something was about to snap, waiting for the hammer to fall. “And of course, the men. Or did you think I hadn't noticed?”

In retrospect, he really should have seen the punch coming. But hindsight was twenty-twenty as they say, so the next thing he knew, the man who usually _couldn't_ be caught unaware, found himself lying on the wet and dirty alley ground. The woman kneeling on his chest, fist raised ready to strike again, was someone he almost did not recognize. No longer the girl he had known, neither the fighter he had seen her become; simply a furious lost soul.

“If you think you have any right to speak to me about using people, you're wrong. Or is this your sense of entitlement talking again? You're the only one who gets to fuck me and leave, is that it?” 

Close, so close, and angry like he hadn't seen her in a long time. Laurel had never been one to use crass language to get her point across, but that just made it all the more effective in this case. Oliver recoiled like he had been slapped, eyes going wide.  
“What? Laurel, why would you ever think...” This time he saw the punch coming, and caught her hand in time.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing heavily. The air was charged, things long left unsaid crawling to the surface, anger long pushed down erupting. This was their fight in the hallway all over again and his confession in the bitterest of all tones, “ _I've loved you for half my life_ ”. This was her stubborn decision to become a vigilante and his inability to accept it, his voice echoing time and time again, “ _You're not a hero_ ”. This was the hospital last year and the bitterness of realizations, her patience snapping, lashing out at him, “Y _ou've never seen me as an equal_ ”. This was them at their worst. 

And yet, it was also them, saying “ _I'm always going to look out for you_ ”, “ _I still need you in my life_ ” and “ _I know you like I know my own name_ ”. Because for every moment of bitterness and betrayal, for every fight that had torn them apart, there had also been a moment where they had turned back to each other. This was them, taking a step forward so they could _heal_. He needed her to understand that. As he held her fists in his hands, he desperately hoped she would stay long enough for them to see this through to the end.

“I know what grieving does to a person, Laurel. I know that all that anger, it doesn't go away, no matter how much you pretend it isn't there. I know that sex and fighting make you feel alive, give you an outlet for all the emotions you keep bottled up. I get it, okay? Because I've been there.” She turned away from him at that, head turned slightly down so she wouldn't have to face him anymore. He recognized it as a first sign of defeat, felt the tension slowly bleed out of her. Yet, he needed her to listen, to see the sincerity in his eyes for his next words, because the thought that she might hold the misconception that he would _ever_ use her like that tore at him. Carefully, he placed her hands on his chest and let go of her. Her fingers immediately curled into his shirt, like she was barely holding on in a storm. But her head remained turned away, and carefully, he guided her to look at him. She didn't resist, and he made sure to maintain eye contact with her through his next words.

“That night with you, that was _never_ about forgetting my pain. That night was only about you, and _us_. And I'm sorry for ever making you doubt that.”  
He paused then, hoping she would believe him, wondering how things between them had turned out like this. A part of him recognized this old dance of theirs, this push and pull. And maybe they had never talked about that one night before the Undertaking, had never properly addressed what had happened, besides the blanket agreement of it never happening again. He recognized now that that was a foolish path to take. Like usual, he had run from his feelings. And now Laurel was digging up old hurts, needing an outlet for her anger. Because that was what they did. Get angry and fight, have it out, and yet always, always come back to each other.  
Ultimately though he knew that Laurel was trying to distract him, so he would turn an blind eye to the real issue: that he was just addressing an old scar, but that there was a newer, fresher and worse wound still bleeding.  
“But what you're doing now, with all that anger and grief? That's simply covering up the bullet hole, without letting it heal.”

He felt it the moment the weight on his chest shifted, the tension going out of her. She collapsed onto him suddenly, like a puppet with her strings cut. Without conscious thought, his arms came up around her, and he simply held her. Time lost all meaning, and their surroundings fell away. It no longer mattered that he was lying in a back alley on wet asphalt, that the night air was heavy with drizzle and wetness pooled from where her tears fell silently. All that mattered was the woman in his arms, shaking from pent-up emotions and grief, finally collapsing into herself. What mattered was the trust she placed in him now. What mattered was that she was finally letting go.

Her confession, when it finally came, was just a broken whisper amidst silent tears.

“My father is gone, Ollie. And I don't know how to deal with it.”

 

_...._

  
Standing in the back, observing from the sidelines as other people went about their business, was one thing John Diggle had always been good at. He had mastered this skill of seeing without being seen so well in his years as bodyguard, it was almost impossible to turn it off completely. For a while, things had been different. He had been more involved, had gone out in the field, had been at the center of the action, seen by all. But these days, he found himself content with drifting to the back of the group once more, his mind already back at home with his girls, caution urging him to stay down in the Bunker more often than not. Which was also one of the reasons his old skills had started to kick in again. He would watch, listen and observe without anyone noticing.

Which was also how he was able to piece together the clues. Being in the Bunker, removed enough from the fight, he was able to see more clearly than others might. He saw a whole picture, where they might only see a few pieces.  
Unfortunately, when it came to Laurel, it was not a picture he found himself liking very much. 

Years ago, when he had been in the military, he had known soldiers who had dealt with loss in peculiar ways. He had known men and women who had thirsted for every bit of adrenaline, every kind of rush, just to forget that they had lost someone. Survivor's guilt was a bitch to deal with and John had known soldiers who had gone out every day with a smile plastered on their face, but had spent every night trying to hide their pain away – whether by drinking, smoking weed or screwing around, it hadn't mattered.  
And because he had seen it before, it wasn't difficult to recognize all the signs now in Laurel. Even when she had tried to hide what she was doing, had tried to put on a facade, had acted like she was just fine – John knew she wasn't.

Oliver's strange behavior hadn't really helped, and until recently, John had worried about that too. But then the tension between Oliver and Laurel had changed. There was a heaviness there now, something that might be acceptance, or might be resignation. And John finally knew, with that one fight out of her system, that now she would be ready to hear what he had to say.  
He remained behind when everyone else had left, the lawyer still working with the weights. His approach was similar to how one would advance towards a caged animal. Because that was what she had become. Caged into her pretend of being fine, always so careful to keep up appearances, lest someone accuse her of following the slippery slope of grief downwards.

But he could see the cracks forming already. She was less restrained when she wore the mask, displaying a ruthlessness that didn't fit in with who Laurel Lance was. She kept her distance from the team more and more, talked little and smiled even less. John couldn't remember the last time he had seen her smile genuinely, and that alone was a reason enough to worry. The fire that had burned so bright before, that had once convinced him that there was no stopping her from going out as Black Canary, was now gone. Where once she had sought justice, there was just coldness now, like someone had snuffed that flame out. He remembered well how they had found her, clutching her dead father in her lap, staring unseeingly through the torn ceiling. If nothing changed, if no one found a way to help her, she would one day explode outwards with all that pent up emotion, and God help whoever stood in her way.

No, Laurel Lance was far from being okay, and as long as she couldn't admit that, she never would be. 

“You can say it, John.”

Or maybe she was more aware than he had thought.  
Closing the remaining distance, he took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for what needed to be said.  
“I think you need to finally grieve. On your own, away from all of this. Because as long as you stay, you will always try to keep up your mask. Always trying to prove that you're just fine and won't fall down into that hole as you did once before.” He paused, noting the tension in her shoulders as she put the weights away. “But Laurel, that is not how you deal with a loss like this. That is not how you can _heal_.”

Slowly, she turned around to face him, “I know,” she admitted in a whisper, eyes dancing away from him as if ashamed. “I've slowly come to realize that what I need cannot be found here. Every corner of this city is stained with reminders. I know that I need to get out, to leave. I just... I can't bring myself to do it.”

John did the only thing then that made sense to him. He stepped up to her and hugged her tightly, knowing she needed reassurance that she was free to leave.  
“I will look after Thea. And after Oliver. And together, we will look after the city.”

_...._  
  


Thea was already curled up on the couch when Laurel approached the living room, hair still wet from her prolonged shower.

For a moment, the lawyer just stood leaning against the wooden frame, observing the young woman who had become like a second sister to her. Fuzzy warm socks in a bright red decorated her feet, and she was bundled up in a plaid blanket. Laurel knew that this need for comfort had nothing to do with being cold, but was simply a habit. The opened ice cream pint in Thea’s hands was proof enough of that. A smile grew as she took it all in, remembering many previous movie nights they had spent together on the couch like that. As strange as it was, this routine was a part of _home_ to her.  
And she would have to leave it.

The unbidden thought stole her smile away, and something heavy settled uncomfortably on her shoulders.  
“Why the long face?” Thea asked, putting the ice cream down and fetching the remote to mute the TV. She had noticed Laurel lingering in the doorway, had observed her uncertainty. She’d both dreaded and anticipated this moment. Because the younger Queen sibling knew her share of grief, of pain and confusion and about losing fathers. She knew all about hiding behind every readily available distraction, just to feel normal for a while. But she also knew when to push, and when to let things be. Tonight there was something urging her to ask; something in the set of Laurel’s shoulders, the smile that had vanished so abruptly.

With a sigh, Laurel sank down onto the couch next to her roommate. Almost automatically, her hands reached for the second blanket, an old purple and brown checkered one she had owned for more than a decade. The fabric brought comfort, but also uninvited memories, and she averted her eyes under the pretense of studying it.  
“Thea…” She didn’t even know how to start, the words stuck somewhere in her throat, refusing to come out. As it turned out, she didn’t need to utter a single word, because Thea already knew what she was trying to say.  
“You’re leaving.”  
Utterly surprised, Laurel’s head whipped up, eyes flying up to stare at the other woman. “How…?”  
“Because I know you. And I know what it feels like to grief, surrounded by so many people who are constantly _watching_. I get it. And I think you should do what’s best for you. And screw everyone who tries to tell you differently.” There was a spark of rebellion in her eyes, and yet steel in her voice.

The lawyer looked at her for a long moment, still perplexed, before finally forming words. “I want to leave. But I also don’t want to leave. I know that makes no sense…”  
“It does actually,” Thea disagreed, smiling to take the sting out of her words. “What was it that Ollie always used so say about you? ‘Dinah Laurel Lance, always trying to save the world’. Well, maybe now is the time to leave that Laurel behind for a while. To just go, and be free to deal with all your baggage.”  
Another silence followed then, a dozen different instincts at war within her. “I don’t want to be another person that leaves you behind,” she finally confessed. She knew it wasn’t fair to put this on Thea, knew that it was presumptuous in a way to assume others wouldn’t be there for the young woman. She knew Oliver and John would step up, just as well as she knew that ultimately, Thea needed nobody. She had grown so much, had found herself, built a foundation on former ruins. But honesty was one right they had both fought for bitterly, so now here it was. The truth laid out before them.  
“You’re not. It’s not leaving me behind if I send you away, is it?”

The tension broke, and Laurel, held up by duty and love alike, finally succumbed to the weight on her shoulders. For the second time that evening, she ended up in somebody’s embrace and felt some of that burden lift.  
“Thank you,” she breathed into Thea’s hair, and if both of them got a little teary eyed after that moment, no one would ever mention it again.  
“Now, if this is our last movie night for a while, let’s watch something _really_ special…”

And as they debated the merits of choosing one movie over another, Laurel basked in the presence of her _other_ little sister, committing every detail to memory.

And two weeks, a phone call, a few goodbyes and two plane rides later, Laurel would touch foreign ground and remember that evening with a smile.

_...._

Nyssa took her all across South Asia. They traveled, they trained, they talked. In between, Nyssa taught her the art of meditation.

In Malaysia, on sandy beaches and in green forests, an old woman instructed her in ancient ways of martial arts.

In Japan, under the guidance of a strict _Sensei_ , Laurel learned to be at peace with herself and her past, and all the pain of the last decade. 

Finally back in the western hemisphere, in a tiny village on the shores of Argentina, Laurel learned to laugh again and to just be herself, to care for people like she had done before.

The day she returned home to Star City, Dinah Laurel Lance was at peace with herself. Death had come and taken so many people from her. But she was still here, and she was still alive. She owned it to the dead, to Tommy and her father, to the lost, angry woman she had been, to finally _live_ again.

 

So she did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler/Warning: Quentin is dead. Laurel is not dealing well, but there is no substance abuse in this story. That said, she is dealing in a quite unhealthy way (by basically sleeping around), so there is that...  
> \--  
> The side story to this I might write involves Oliver visiting Laurel in Argentina. I'm not sure if it would end up as Lauriver, but I think the foundation for them getting closer again exists, and fluff was requested.. So, yeah.  
> Loved it? Hated it? Wanted to smack a character? Leave a comment and let me know!


End file.
